"enactments" poems
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.
I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.
She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.
I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”
I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.
I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.
She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.
I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”
I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
I look forward to the re-enactments of historic moments in the pageant of The United States of America. [sic]
Gettysburg, Crossing the Delaware, The Moon Landing, Paul Revere's Ride, The March on Washington, The Storming of the Capital, The Clearing of Lafayette Plaza, The George Floyd ****** The Separation of Families, The Arizona Re-count, The Plot to Assassinate Democratic Governors, The Imprisonment of: Jared, Donny, Eric, Ivanka, Don, Carlson, Greene, Gaetz, Guilianni, Hannity, Conway, McVeigh, Barr [sic] (just to mention a few of the Founding Fuck-Ups.), the death of 650,000 people (the vast majority being innocent), The Pandemic of the Unvaxxed [sic]
After July 4, 2024, History may never be the same. See it now!
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
It was in wander
for not lost was she.
It was in wonder
for without sin
she walked towards
the tree bearing
sweet fruit
enticing her forward
lust sent a lumber puncture
through her spine
upwards it shot to the
brain; cerebral forms
into a beating heart.
It excited her there was
such freedom found
in such innocence.
Pulsating quivers she waited
Adam to her Eve
daisy chains falling from her neck
framing a prepubescent chest
hooks temperately fastening
white knotted cotton hand sewn dress
virginal white
no womanhood in sight
Annabelle’s life, a melody of
melancholic cacophonic raspers
from asylums, former patients
of Briarcliff Manor
residing in her; only misery
innocent running’s from
grave dangers of
stark raving madness.
For, today
she wasn’t embroiled
as Arden’s pet
instead she was the little girl
so born to be before the woman
was stolen, bound by
a physicians sick
nightmarish re-enactments.
For, today
she was free
a starling, passionate
darling.
© Sia Jane
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
To learn to
Live to find
Happiness where
There once was
Misery and to
See when once was blind
To hate to love through
The thick and thin of
It all and to breath the
Same air as thine enemy
To trample of angelic
Dirt, touching the soft
Face of a child who was
Born to die in a world
Where sadness is a by-product
Of legislative necessity
To break minds and hearts in
Spite of all the civil wars and
Civil liberties movements, songs
Played and lost in crumpled
Sheet music of time
Pressing a hand onto
Prison glass while there
Are only nightmares behind
The frozen steel bars of the imagination
Our sons and our daughters
Linger on the brink of
Insanities leash and
I am one of them
The glass shatters as
Mismatched celebrity lovers
Entertain us with their
Mundane lives and their
Soft core ***** re-enactments
Of the human condition
I pass by the lepers
Of television, swearing that
The good times were the best
Times in the past, yet I see only
The burning history books
Upon their shelves, weeping
As they comb their hair for the last time
Smelling the sulfur upon
My fingernails
Rotting to the core of it
Trickling cool blood in the
The devil's dandruff
A former president smiling
Making up for all the wrong
By doing now, all the right
We are in constant remorse
This American land
We were born on a graveyard
Of the gentle and peaceful
Our dreams will
Stir and writhe with
The ghosts of the past
Our children will forget
About the beauty of the ocean
And the serene simplicity
Of mother wind
Tossed in the grotto of anonymity
We will lose our names
We will lose our faces
We will lose our throne of thievery
Justifying all that we have done
On the basis of Darwin
The clock will turn
The loser becomes the winner
And the winner
Melts like
Wet ashes
At a
Deserted
Campfire
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
*I am the quarry of my benighted psyche.
So crumbled by the fiendish enactments.
I dread the very persona
i've impersonated.
The damaging mentation have
inebriated my nous.
Clambering off from this lineament
is my quotidian.
I wish to be devoid from this self.
As it ingests my soul.*
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
Calmly spoken words
Organise my chaotic world
Neutral tho' wordy
Vibrant vibe all wild
Ecstatic enactments within
Realist reasons without
Sly species wish
Aims at alms in wells
Treat or trick whistles
Insert insinuations willingly
Oust all odour wisps
Nice neat wide world
Sweet simple wild surprises
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 11:50 AM UTC
The change in her was drastic;
it happened almost instantly,
and standing there resplendent,
my wife smiled at me.
There were tears in her eyes,
and in mine, happily.
Not a force in this world
could have stopped us ******
from the embrace that quickly followed,
barely loose enough to breathe.
The contact was too short,
by a lifetime, or three,
before she started to explain
the curse on her family.
"Long ago, in the world,
there once lived an entity
who was friend to none:
All were his enemy.
My father's father's father,
and many fathers before he,
took upon himself the task
of slaying this ancient beast.
Using magic as a weapon,
my ancestors did believe
that they could clear away the desert,
and live amongst the trees.
The plan was much in favor,
and my people did agree
to use force to move a mountain,
but they paid the price for greed.
As the world was torn apart,
the entity then decreed
that the men who made this choice
would buy all that they need
with the source of all their joy:
With the blood of their own seed."
As she spoke to me,
sword in hand, I heard the ring:
The ring of truth in her words,
she continued enlightening.
"...But as it is with magic,
enactments are shared things,
and the men nor the mountain
knew the trouble this would bring.
When the kingdom needed rulers,
be they prince or queen or king,
a contest would begin,
from which rose or thorn would spring.
The winners lived to rule.
Losers served the entity.
The mountain would shade the forest,
or it would fly upon the wings
of the fire in the desert,
making ashes of the leaves
until the next generation
grew up to be offerings.
But as I said before,
magic is shared between.
Something must be traded
for the spell to be complete.
When the curse took effect,
and the mountain spoke to me,
I traded who I was,
to give you what you need.
I kept your heart in secret,
and saved you from The Queen,
who was agent of the mountain,
as we both have by now seen.
Had you not pierced my heart,
and then hers in search of me,
the sword that trims the rosebush
would have never been:
I would have lived, and would have died,
as a wretched, rotting thing.
...It was a gamble I accepted
in the faith you would be king.
Now with Thorn of Rose to guide,
and me to be your queen,
we have paid the price in pain
enough for joy to reign supreme.
Now bring THAT thorn, Mr. Prince,
and I will show you what I mean..."
She pulled me down onto the bed,
to celebrate our victory.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC